Blue Eyes
by Cygnus the Swan
Summary: Merlin is being executed for sorcery, and this is how it goes. Rated T for safety. Oneshot.


Merlin had no last words prepared.

Earlier that day, with the threat of his execution that would take place only hours later looming over him, he had tried to think of something to say. At first he thought of pleading for his life, he would yell and cry that he was no sorcerer, that the magic witnessed was not his and pray that everyone believed him. But the thought did not linger for long, because he knew that it was his magic and he loved his magic so very dearly because it was a part of him, and he had wanted everyone to know for so long that he didn't have the heart to deny such an integral part of who he was. He just couldn't.

His second thought was, of course, to flee after delivering a vicious and moving speech detailing how Camelot had scorned him and that he would take revenge. He would then disappear with a gust of wind, much like the woman he saw during his first day in Camelot did when she, too, declared revenge against the King. Merlin quickly decided that this, too, was out of the question. The young warlock did not wish any harm upon the kingdom he sacrificed so much for, even if they spat on his face for doing so. Besides, he had always been a terrible liar.

His third thought was to explain how his magic was good, how he had done nothing but protect the people that were killing him for being who he was. He was not an evil sorcerer, he did never chose to study magic, he did not plot to kill the King or the Prince he would so readily serve until he died (the day of his death being so much sooner than he expected). Merlin was just _Merlin_, the kind boy with a happy grin, born with magic, and sometimes helpful to a fault.

They did not hate an evil, misuser of magic with a thirst for silly revenge that would get him nowhere, they hated Merlin and they hated who he was since birth, and it broke his heart into little pieces he knew he'd never have the chance to put back together again because he'd be dead by then.

Being reminded of his untimely end made him feel so sad and _scared _all over again, but he did not cry no matter how much he wanted to, even if he could feel the stinging of teas forming in his liquid pools of blue.

His last thoughts on the last words that would ever flow from his lips while he was in his cell were short-lived. After painstakingly trying to decide what approach to go with-to leave with an eloquent speech explaining how pure and good his magic was, to leave with a promise of revenge and a dramatic exit, or to sob and cry and beg for his life-Merlin decided he'd say nothing.

Which, until he actually got to say his last words, was the plan he decided to stick with.

The boy with pale skin, bony limbs, and pretty blue eyes stood there in front of a crowd filled with mixed emotions of sadness, fury, and confusion, looking so lost and fragile and so very unlike a sorcerer should have looked; menacing, dark, scary, evil, were what sorcerers looked like, sorcerers were not supposed to look like Merlin. Practitioners of magic were not meant to look kind, happy, innocent, and so painfully _not_ evil.

Gwen had cried on the spot, looking at her confident, funny friend standing there, standing for the last time he'd ever stand, and he'd never stand near her again or, or, or _anything_. The thought of his not being anything but a cold, lifeless corpse had her collapsed on the ground next to Lady Morgana, sobbing into her hands and wailing. No one told her to shush, so she sat there crying and crying, refusing to look up as he was killed.

The Lady Morgana watched as her friend, betrayer, enemy, magical kin, brother's manservant, the obstacle in her way to control Camelot, stand there about to die. She should have been happy that he would soon be out of her way for good, but an icy chill gripped at her heart and she stopped breathing when she realized that she wanted him to _liveandbreatheandsmileagain_, even if he should have been only an enemy. She too cried, though not as profusely as Gwen, and knelt down to comfort her friend as well as she could through her own tears.

Gaius was heartbroken as he watched the boy he considered a son stand there. He cried, silent tears streaming down his face as he watched on in a confusing manner of pride that made perfect sense when he thought about it. He was so, so proud of Merlin, so proud of everything the boy had done and should have been able to do but would never get the chance to anymore. But Gaius knew he had to be strong, so he gave a stiff nod, saying so many things that he wanted to say in one simple gesture and hoped Merlin would understand.

'_I am proud of you, I love you like a son, I will never fully recover from this but I will be strong for you, I will miss you terribly, I forgive you for turning my hair pink, for turning me into a horse, for spilling that bowl of hot soup on my lap, for everything I ever yelled at you for doing, I will miss your silly, clumsy antics that would brighten my day, and I will miss that wonderful smile and I wish I could help you, and ohgods, please don't go I need you._'

Arthur felt nothing at all, and it was worse than grief. He wanted to cry, scream, stop the execution of his best friend (and he almost did cry when he noticed that Merlin didn't know Arthur considered him his best friend, one that would never, _ever_ be replaced), yell at Merlin to run and flee using his magic. But he couldn't move, could not feel the hurt, betrayal, grief, and hatred he should have been feeling. He felt nothing but complete and utter loneliness that swept over him in great waves that nearly overwhelmed him.

He would miss his bumbling manservant, the boy with a sarcastic smile and a sharp wit, The boy that did not care whether Arthur was royalty or not, was so wonderfully loyal and kind and always there to look out for him, and was the friend that he needed so desperately without having to be asked. But he could not move, could barely even breathe, so he watched, transfixed as Merlin took what would soon be his last breaths.

Uther was confused. He watched the young sorcerer stand there, and he should have felt nothing like he did when he killed other magic users, and he did. But it did not feel right somehow, as if he was doing something terribly, terribly wrong even though he knew he wasn't, even though he knew deep down that he was lying to himself and that he was doing something terrible. Uther just didn't know what was wrong, so his frown deepened and he stood up straighter, confused.

The reason he felt so _wrong_ struck him hard when he looked into the sorcerer's eyes. Merlin's blue eyes were exactly like his dead wife's, the same shade, a filled with the same breathtaking innocence, curiosity, kindness, and stubbornness that Ygraine's eyes once held when she was alive. It felt like he was killing his wife, the first woman he had ever loved and the last he undoubtedly ever would, all over again. Uther had always loved Ygraine's eyes.

Hunith was not there for the execution, but she cried harder, grieved more, and felt so much more empty and confused than anyone else could ever manage to feel. Her beloved, precious son that was her very world was gone, and she felt so broken and painfully numb with grief that she sobbed into Prince Arthur's chest when he told her the news. Arthur did not arrest Hunith like he normally would have, and when he returned empty-handed Uther said nothing.

Merlin stood there, thinking of what to say, opening his mouth and closing it several times as he choked back a sob he knew was inevitable. No one bothered to hurry him or yell or shout or anything, everyone stood and watched and waited, because everyone was so utterly mesmerized even if they had hated Merlin mere moments before (which was not true, everyone loved Merlin at least a little even if they didn't know it).

So when members of the crowd started shedding tears (Arthur began crying, Uther shedding a single tear that meant so much), some sobbing and others holding back tears to look strong, Merlin began to cry because they didn't hate him, and in it was such a wonderful feeling, and he'd never felt so loved before in his life since he'd moved to Camelot.

When he finally spoke through his sobs, he smiled one of his wonderful smiles and his puffy, bloodshot pretty blue eyes lit up, and then he said so lovingly and gentle, "I'll miss you."

Merlin was set aflame, and everyone cried.

For Merlin was magic, and he was still loved by everyone of Camelot to varying degrees, because he was _Merlin_ and that explained everything.

* * *

So, I don't own Merlin, the show belongs to it's respective owners. Anyways, I'm not too sure what brought this on, I was just reading some Merlin fanfiction and, well, here we are. I actually managed to get myself to cry while writing this, and I love this fic to no ends because I love the show Merlin and this is my first fanfiction for it. Well, it's really late, and I'm tired, so fare well. c:


End file.
